undignified trash
by Anrheithwyr
Summary: For her eighth birthday, Nymphadora Tonks receives a doll.


"What do you think about this one, Nymphadora?" Andromeda said, handing the doll to her daughter, who looked at the toy in disgust, wondering, not for the first time, if her mum even knew who Nymphadora _was_. Did she still not, even after eight years, understand that Dora had _never, ever, ever_ wanted a doll in her whole life?

The doll was sickeningly sweet, with long lashes and curly blonde hair, a painted smile plastered across her face, pink lips making the doll look like it was pouting slightly. In fact, the doll seemed to have make-up all across it's face, as the area above it's eyes were probably not _naturally_ pink. To make things worse, the stupid doll had a short, bubbly, rose-pink dress and two little plastic shoes on it's feet.

She _hated_ the doll, which was girly and pink and looked stupid; she hated the doll almost as much as she hated being called Nymphadora ("I'm _Dora_, Mummy. Stop _calling me that_," she had said a hundred times, but Mummy never paid attention). Her mum never seemed to realise that Dora was not the little princess she had always wanted, but was instead a rough-and-tubmle kind of child, who preferred broomsticks to baby dolls.

The doll, which had been pulled out it's wrappings only moments before was still being held limply in Andromeda's grip as she tried to hand it over to Dora, who was doing her level best to stay as far away as possible from the stupid doll. She wanted _nothing_ to do with that dumb thing, and whoever had gotten it for her was an idiot for not realising that Dora was _not_ a dollies and tea sets sort of girl, nor had she ever been.

Why couldn't her mum understand?

"Come on, Nymphadora, take the doll. It's cute, don't you think?" Andromedasaid as she set the doll in Dora's lap with a sigh, exasperated with her daughter's attitude. The girl had been spending the whole morning making a fuss about every present, about the pink-frosted cupcakes and the girly dress that she had been forced into for her party. Didn't Nymphadora understand that this was the perfect party for a little girl of her age?

The sort of party that Andromeda had never been allowed to have, as she had been raised in the Black household, whose idea of a birthday party meant a few small gifts and maybe an extra glass of milk, if she was polite. All that Andromeda wanted was for her daughter to have the birthday party that Andromeda herself had never been able to have.

Why couldn't her daughter understand?

"I don't want it, Mummy. I don't _like_ dolls. I don't like pink, either, remember?" Dora grumbled, sulking. She shoved the doll from her lap, watching it fall to the ground, wishing it was made of porcelain instead of plastic so that it's stupid head would bash into pieces. "I wanted a _broomstick_, not another doll. I have plenty enough dolls."

"Well, I don't see why you have to be so _ungrateful_," Andromeda snapped, sweeping the doll up and dropping it on the table, along with the rest of her daughter's presents, which included a few short chapter books, as well as a few Itty-Bitty Pretty Witch products that Andromeda thought were suitable for an eight year old girl. "If you're going to act this way, you ought to just go upstairs and sit by yourself for a little while."

"Fine!" Dora yelled, leaping to her feet, barely noticing as her hair shifted to a dark, angry red colour. She kicked the table leg, knocking over a few of the still-wrapped presents onto the floor as she rushed upstairs. The girl paused on the top step, looking down at her mum, calling down, "I _hate_ this party and I hate _you_, too! You don't understand me at all! You never listen to me, no matter what I say! You're the worst mum ever!"

And then she was gone, leaving Andromeda to clean up the mess left behind. With a sigh, Andromeda picked the doll up from the table once more, looking down at it's happy, perfect little face, which was nothing at all like her own daughter's face, which was usually grubby and dirty from hours playing outside.

Andromeda suddenly had the urge to throw the doll, had the urge to smash it against the wall until it's face was pushed in and the doll could not be recognised. She had the urge to throw the doll over and over until it was nothing more than a lump of plastic in a pretty dress. _She_ had never gotten a doll at all, because Mother always said dolls were undignified.

Andromeda threw the doll, tossing it somewhere behind her in the living room, and continued to clean up the table, clearing away the cake and the plates. The doll was clearly nothing but trouble, an undignified lump of trash, just like her mother had always said.


End file.
